


The Other Top Drawer

by peevee



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Pegging, pornlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you ever - ?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says. “I like it, um. Slow.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Top Drawer

**Author's Note:**

> Matt Murdock is seriously pretty when he's all wrung out and crying, don't judge me. 
> 
> From a kinkmeme prompt [here](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=802261#cmt802261). Thank you, noble anon, for being my enabler <3

“Matt, really?” Claire raises her eyebrows. He has the grace to look abashed, at least. 

“I can’t reach,” he says ruefully, “and I can’t _see_.”

“And which of your big bad enemies gave you a big bad splinter?” she coos. He huffs. 

“It’s _glass_ ,” and okay, pouting, she has no defence against that. She looks away before her heartbeat speeds up to give her away.

“Fine, fine, I’ll get your splinter, you big baby.” She rolls up her sleeves. “Kit is in the top drawer in my bedroom, first on the right.”

She’s rinsing off her hands when he comes back with it, so she doesn’t notice at first. He hands her the kit silently, she glances up, and then it’s impossible to miss that he’s absolutely bright pink, and suddenly she remembers that there are two sets of drawers in her bedroom, and oh _God_.

“Um,” he says slowly, mouth working.

“Oh God,” she says, “I am so sorry. Did you, um-”

If it’s possible, Matt turns even redder. “I don’t know if you need to wash, er - I touched. Um.”

“It’s - that’s fine,” she manages. “It’s - I wash it -” and she cuts herself off.

“Right, okay, good,” he says. They stand for an excruciating moment before Matt makes a pained sound low in his throat and Claire scrambles for an excuse to _never talk about this ever again_.

“Sit,” she gives him a little push. “Get your boot off. How long has it been in there?”

-

After he leaves (through the _window_ , ridiculous man) she makes herself go to the bedroom to inspect her top drawer. The other top drawer. 

There it is; pink, a little shiny, curved at the tip. Claire’s face flames again as she notices her harness folded next to it, a little less neatly than she remembers. She imagines Matt’s fingers edging delicately along the straps, realising slowly what he was touching.

-

And of course, of course he kisses her again. Of course they end up in her bedroom. 

Matt’s all sleek corded muscle; she barely feels him quiver with effort when he holds her up over his thighs. He fucks her with a practiced athleticism that has her clawing the sheets, the couch, the thick muscles of his back; eats her out with a determined singlemindedness, then lets her ride his fingers until she’s choking against his neck. When he comes he gives her the most delicious little whining sounds, but she can’t quite get him that perfect shade of pink again. 

“Matt,” she murmurs against the back of his neck, dancing the tips of her fingers over his thigh. 

“Mm?” Soft, sleepy.

“You know...what you found. In my drawer.” He tenses, and she keeps stroking him, deliberate and slow. 

“Yeah,” he rasps.

“You interested?” she manages, not giving her voice the chance to catch.

“God. Yes,” he says quickly. “Uh, that is. Yes.” He squirms against her hand, and she fights not to shudder at the clench of sudden arousal.

“Good,” she says instead, but damn, he’s gone still with tension again.

“Claire,” he says quietly, breath huffing out, “can smell you.”

_Jesus_.

He turns, biting his lower lip, pressing hard up against her thigh, and oh, the tip of his cock is wet already, she can feel it dabbing against her skin as he shifts and sighs.

“Now?”

He ducks his head. “Now.”

“Jesus. Okay. Have you ever - ?”

“Yeah,” he says, and there, that’s it, pink flush spreading down his neck and over his chest. “I like it, um. Slow.”

God, he’s going to kill her. “Slow I can do,” she murmurs, teeth against his neck. 

-

Slow she’s finding really _really_ difficult, tucked between his spread thighs, one finger slicked inside him as he hitches out strangled breaths above her. 

“Fuck!”

And even that, even hearing him curse has her shoving her fake cock against the sheets, pressing her face into his inner thigh so she can bite him softly as she moves her fingers in him.

“Shh,” she murmurs against his skin, “you’re okay, you’re okay.”

She gets the feeling that it’s only the fact he’s already come once tonight that’s stopping him from falling apart like this. She pets his hip, gentling, rubs inside him a little.

“Fuck, fuck,” he chokes out. “It’s...a lot.”

“Okay?” She stills her hand.

“Yeah. I think you could, though, you could. With the. Fuck me.”

“Yeah?” She slides her finger out, rubs at his hole with the pad of her thumb and watches as his mouth drops open.

“Just. Slowly.”

She grins at him and crawls up to his chest, pressing her face into his neck so he can feel the shape of her smile. “Yeah, slow like an arthritic tortoise, I got it.” He rubs his chin against the top of her head, and she leans back, still smiling.

“Spread ‘em, baby.”

He laughs, but his legs fall splayed to the side, and she has to take a breath at the picture he makes. 

“Yeah?” Matt says, sounding a little embarrassed, and she realises he’s hearing her heart beginning to pound. 

“You’re lovely,” she says, knows he’ll hear the truth in it. “You have to tell me if I do something you don’t want.”

“Yeah, just--”

“Slow,” she cuts him off, leaning down to kiss him on the mouth, “yeah.”

And God, the way she pushes inside has to be frustrating, hardly a millimeter at a time before he starts to huff and she slows til she’s barely moving, but his thighs are spread wide, head tilted back. She lets herself fall on top of him when she’s all the way in and he clings, squirming slowly and hitching gasps into her hair. It’s so hot she almost can’t bear it, the feeling of him losing his iron self-control from just her cock inside him. 

“Matt,” she breathes, stroking down his side and letting her hips rock in tiny shoves. 

“You’re so wet, Claire,” he says, words a little blurred, and she remembers that he can _smell_ her, Christ.

“Yeah,” she croaks. “Slow is. Yeah.”

“Mm,” he says, managing to sound smug and wrecked at the same time. “I want to - _ah_ ,”

“Sorry, sorry,” she pushes up onto her elbows and strokes the back of his neck, slowing her hips. 

“Want to put my mouth on you, after” he continues, “Claire, _uh_ , too much, too much.”

She holds herself frozen above him. “Want to stop?”

“No, no. Feels so good, just - just come here -”

Claire lowers herself again, careful not to jolt him as he hitches his legs up over her thighs, shuddering when they settle together. He sighs, rubs his cock against her stomach and tilts his head to the side to let her suck kisses along his jaw. Her cock is hardly moving in him at all but he just gasps soft sounds into her hair and slides his fingers up and down over her back. 

“Okay?” she says, when his breathing starts to come stilted, like he’s forgetting that he needs air. 

“Yeah,” he moans, “It’s so - oh, _oh_ ,” 

Claire’s head drops to his neck, and she presses her teeth into his collarbone, his stilted whining threading straight between her legs. She lets him work himself against her and it’s still so achingly slow she doesn’t know how he can bear it. There are tears on his cheeks. She smudges her thumb against them, leans forward to kiss them from his face and he makes a soft wet sound, freezing underneath her. _God_.

“Oh,” he says, once, then -

Then his legs twitch and tighten around her waist, fingers hard on her shoulders. He pushes up once against her stomach then starts to come in slick pulses, his body seized into stillness, mouth gone soft and shocked open. Claire trembles, tries not to move too much as she coaxes him through it with gentle touches. She feels like she’s about to shake apart, hot all over, vision blurred from watching him so intently. Every one of her muscles feels strung tight and she can’t take her eyes off him, the raw red of his mouth, the wetness at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh my God,” he says after a few seconds, taking a giant, shuddery breath, “oh my God.”

“Matt,” she grits out, suddenly so desperate for his touch she’s almost sobbing. He doesn’t get his mouth on her, just hisses as she pulls out then fumbles his usually steady fingers under the harness, and she comes almost instantly, crouched over him and shuddering. He keeps his fingers shoved against her and she works herself on them even as she feels her muscles go lax and liquid.

“Mm,” Matt says. He draws his fingers lazily up to his mouth and licks them. “Tastes good.” 

“Uh huh,” says Claire, flopping down beside him. She blinks at the ceiling. “We’re definitely doing that again.”

“Oh, we are, are we,” says Matt. She props herself up on one elbow and looks him over; soft cock against his thigh, stomach smeared liberally with his own come, fingers still slick with her. His lashes are dark and shining with tears. She bites her lip.

“Really?” he says, bringing his fingers up to her pulse, which, yeah, is picking up just looking at him. “I’m a mess.”

“You really are.” The way he flushes is stupidly charming. “It’s - it’s a really good look on you.”

“Then...yeah. I guess I could suffer through it.” He’s grinning now, chin ducked down. “For you.”

She kisses him, soft on the mouth. 

“My selfless hero.”


End file.
